


Through a Glass Brightly

by anactoria



Series: Solidarity [3]
Category: Watchmen (2009)
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-05
Updated: 2012-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-01 12:55:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anactoria/pseuds/anactoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty years after "Solidarity", Adrian is appalled to discover he needs glasses. Luckily he has Dan to remind him it's not so terrible a fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through a Glass Brightly

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 2010. Started life as comment!fic, again to a prompt by Flyingrat42. :)

" _Glasses_ , Dan."

"...Sorry, aren't I taking your predicament seriously enough? God forbid that you should have to join the ranks of us glasses-wearers, doomed to hideousness by the ridiculous contraptions perched on the bridges of our noses."

Adrian blinks, bright spots of color appearing on his cheekbones. "Dan-- I didn't mean--"

"Relax, would you?" Dan pulls out a chair and sits down, taking Adrian's right hand between both of his own. "I was just teasing. But seriously. It happens to everyone eventually. You're past sixty -- you've been pretty lucky to escape them up until now. I've had these things since I was eight."

A faint smile. "You're right, of course. It's just..."

Dan squeezes his hand. "I get it," he says, and he thinks he does. Adrian's accepted the gray hair and the jokes at birthday gatherings with good grace, but those are different; they're never going to get in the way of his ability to make a difference, to be useful. Not being able to help anymore, though -- well, that's a fear Dan can understand. He still remembers the feeling of being useless pretty clearly.

But that was then. Funnily enough, retirement hasn't posed too many problems for him this time around. He doesn't really mind the idea of being obsolete, pottering around in the toolshed and filling up the bird-feeders and leaving people whose joints don't creak in the cold to save the world. 

Maybe it's because this time it doesn't seem premature. He actually feels like he's earned it.

The impulse to make a difference is a tough one to shake, though, and Adrian has it worse than he ever did. Dan never felt responsible for the fate of a whole planet, always had at least a couple of people in his life to give a damn about. Before him, Adrian didn't have anyone to bring him back down to Earth, prevent him from being swallowed whole by his responsibilities. If _they_ hadn't happened... well, Dan doesn't even want to think about that.

Which is lucky, because Adrian is murmuring, "You always get it," and gently plucking Dan's glasses off of his nose to kiss the imprint they've left there. "And you're certainly not 'doomed to hideousness.'"

"I'll take your word for it," Dan smiles. "Honestly, though. You should start to relax a little. Christ, if getting older isn't a good enough excuse, I don't know what is. You don't have to join every single advisory board and council that invites you, you know." He gets to his feet, and tugs lightly at Adrian's hand.

"I know," Adrian says, standing, a rueful note in his voice. "But it's difficult to say no. Where are we going?"

"The garden. You're coming to feed the birds with me, like the couple of old-timers we are." Dan reaches for his glasses with his free hand, and pops them back on his face with a grin. "The world can run itself without you, Adrian. You ought to get out in it a little more. Even if you have to look at it through glasses."


End file.
